


Where The Heart Lives

by Ltleflrt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Autumn, Cottagetober Challenge, Do not repost, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Halloween, M/M, October, SamWitch on the side, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-09 00:27:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 12,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20844545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ltleflrt/pseuds/Ltleflrt
Summary: Home is where the heart is, but it's nice to have a cozy little love nest too.A collection of related short ficlets without a plot.  Just small glimpses of Dean and Castiel being happy and in love.





	1. Sleeping In

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing this based on the Cottagetober Challenge, which I think is for art, but oh well, I'm inspired anyway :)

Even though he doesn’t open his eyes, Dean can tell that the sun is up when he feels Cas shifting in his arms. The light, lacy curtains that Cas insists give the room “charm” don’t do much to block out light, but Dean’s the kind of guy who can sleep anytime or anywhere if given the opportunity. 

Too many years spent on the move, on the run, and your body learns how to deal with it.

Since he’s settled down, and lives permanently in Cas’ little woodland dream house, he’s discovered the side effect of staying in one place for too long. Dean is not a morning person.

He’s also a fucking cuddle monster. 

It’s Saturday morning, neither of them has to be anywhere any time soon. Why the hell is his husband trying to get out of bed? 

Tightening his arm around Cas, he nuzzles deeply against the warm space under his hairline on the back of his neck. “No, stay,” he murmurs.

Cas huffs impatiently but relaxes back into Dean’s embrace. “I’m going to have to pee eventually.”

“Will you come back?”

“Of course.”

Dean lets him go, but immediately snuggles into the warm space he leaves behind. He’s unaware that when Cas returns, he finds Dean fast asleep again, but smiling.


	2. Breakfast

Castiel hummed softly as he moved around the kitchen. The tune was one that would make his husband roll his eyes--if anyone were looking, otherwise he’d bop his head along--but Dean is still sound asleep. 

Not for long, Castiel thinks with a smile as he adds a pat of butter to the sizzling hot griddle. Sure enough, the scent of coffee and pancakes lure his sleepy bear out of the comfort of their bedroom. He squints and grunts when Castiel kisses him on the cheek before passing over a cup of coffee sweetened with fresh cream and honey, just the way Dean denies he loves.

Only when Castiel sets a full plate of pancakes in front of him does Dean finally look at him properly. His slow smile challenges the sunrise for beauty. He sneaks an arm around Castiel’s hips and gives a sharp tug, upsetting his balance until he’s forced to sit down on Dean’s thighs. At least he waited until the pancakes were safely on the table.

Dean rubs his cheek against Castiel’s, making him shiver as their growing beards catch against each other. Then he looks up at Castiel with eyes that remain spring-green even in the closing of the summer. “Thanks, sweetheart. Love you.”

Castiel kisses his husband, enjoying the minty freshness of his lips before it’s washed away by coffee and breakfast. Dean lets him go before he needs a warning about his pancakes getting cold, but not without a lingering grope when Castiel stands.

“I love you too,” Castiel says as he settles down in the chair next to Dean to enjoy the first meal of the day together.


	3. Herb Garden

Castiel squints at the pages of his book, examining the pictures until he’s sure the plant he’s about to pull out of the dirt is not one of his herbs. This is his second year growing his own, and he’s starting to feel comfortable recognizing most of them on sight. He knows the rosemary and dill and chives by sight, and mint by scent. But he still can’t always tell the sage and basil apart, or the parsley and coriander. 

Not without pictures. He’d put little signs in front of each plot, but until he can recognize each herb without a guide, he doesn’t trust himself to pull proper weeds. 

He works diligently, plucking weeds and checking the soil, and preparing things for the end of summer. The days are still uncomfortably warm, but the nights are cooling quickly, and he wants to make sure his little garden is ready. The stray tom cat that seems to have adopted them wanders through at one point and rubs itself against Castiel’s thighs, but skitters away when he tries to pet it. Castiel chuckles and gets back to work, gets lost in the simple labor.

It’s not until a long shadow falls over him that he realizes how hot it’s gotten as the sun inches higher in the sky. When he looks up, Dean winks at him just before plopping a floppy straw hat on his head.

“You’re going to get a sunburn if you keep forgetting it,” Dean says warmly. When Castiel settles the hat on his head properly and tilts his head back far enough to see his husband past the wide brim, Dean holds out a large glass of lemonade. “And you gotta stay hydrated in this heat.”

Castiel accepts the offering with a smile and drinks down half of it before stopping to take a breath. He smacks his lips together in satisfaction and grins up at Dean. “Yes, dear. Thank you.”

Dean grunts, flicks the brim of Castiel’s hat, and heads back inside. Where it’s probably cooler. Castiel takes a more moderate sip of his lemonade and sets it where he won’t knock it down, and puts his hands back in the dirt.


	4. Animal Companion

“What kind of animal do you think I’d be?”

Dean lifts his nose from his book and peers at his husband. “Excuse me?”

Cas continues snapping the ends off green beans as if he didn’t ask the weirdest thing ever out of the fucking blue. “You know, if you were a witch and I were your familiar.”

Where the hell this conversation came from will forever remain a mystery because Dean isn’t going to ask. Knowing Cas, the explanation will be just as confusing. “You’d be an owl,” he says, without really thinking about it. Because he’s caught on a different part of the question. “Who says I’m the witch though? You’re the one with the garden and the herbs hanging all over the place to dry. I just live here.”

Cas looks up at him, blue eyes twinkling. “Good point. You are much like a cat.”

Dean blinks. “I’m what now?”

“Napping whenever you can, especially if you can find a sunny spot. Whining when you want food or affection.”

Dean blinks again. Stares at Castiel’s smug little smile. Silently admits he’s got a point and shrugs. “Well, cats have it good.” He settles deeper in his chair, wiggling his bare toes in the sunlight streaming through those damn lacy curtains, and goes back to reading his book.


	5. Outfit of Choice

Laundry sucks. Dean hates it. Cas hates it. And therefore it piles up and piles up, making it even more work when it’s time to be done. Which makes them hate it more.

But there’s one thing Dean loves about it. 

Since they always put it off until there’s literally nothing to wear, Cas turns into a nudist for the day. Which is why Dean is currently spending more time ogling his naked husband as Cas hangs up wet clothes, than folding the dry ones that just came off the line like he’s supposed to be doing. It’s hard to concentrate on the task when Cas looks so friggin’ sexy in his birthday suit.

Cas is almost as likely to walk outside in the buff on non-laundry days too, so there’s barely a tan line interrupting long stretches of sun-toasted skin. See, Dean? He just gets freckles. Everywhere. Seriously,  _ everywhere. _ It comes with the green eyes and the red undertones in his hair. But Cas… well his hair gets lighter and his skin gets darker, and with his thickly muscled runner’s body he could strap on some winged sandals and looks like Hermes walking the modern Earth.

“You’re staring,” Cas says as he pins up a pillow case. Gotta do the sheets while they’re doing the rest of the laundry, or they won’t get done at all.

Dean sweeps his eyes from the shadowed space between Cas’ thighs, pauses on the curve of his perfect ass, and follows the arc of his spine to find blue eyes peering at him over his shoulder. He grins. “Sure am, sweetheart. Got quite the view from over here.”

Cas gives him a once over as well, his lips twitching into a pleased smile. “You’re going to have a lot more freckles after today.”

And Dean knows that Cas is going to want to try and count the new ones later tonight.


	6. Forest Exploration

Browned leaves and twigs crunch underfoot, adding counterbeat to the melody of birdsong and the harmony of wind twining through branches. The forest’s song pulls Castiel deeper, and with each step into nature’s cathedral he feels a layer of stress created by day to day civilized life peel away. 

He stops in the shade of a cluster of aspens and tilts his head back on his shoulders. With the onset of autumn, their plumage has changed from silvery green to a blaze of yellows and oranges, heralding the end of the warmer months weeks before other trees get the message. Soon all the broadleaves will have fallen, and only the evergreens will provide color in the bleak, cold months to come. 

The transformation of the forest around his little home makes him feel melancholy. Another year coming to a close, seemingly faster with every circumnavigation of the earth around the sun. It gives the impression of uncontrolled speed, with only the promise of a sudden stop at the end.

His lips curl at his own morbidity. 

A second pair of footsteps traipsing through the undergrowth transforms his smile into something more genuine. He lowers his gaze and glances over his shoulder to watch Dean approaching. His husband is dressed warmly for the cooling weather, leather jacket over a layer of warm flannel, thick jeans, and sturdy boots. His hands are tucked in his pockets, but hanging from the crook of one elbow is a familiar bundle of cloth.

“If you’re gonna commune with nature until the sun goes down, you really oughta bundle up,” he grumps as he thrusts Castiel’s trench coat at him. 

Castiel accepts the offering, but doesn’t look away from Dean’s face. Sunlight, golden and hazy as the star slips closer to the horizon, slips through a break in the forest canopy, glinting off the gold flecks in his eyes and bringing out the red-gold highlights in his spiked hair. The freckles across the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks remind Castiel of autumn leaves frolicking in the wind.

He looks like a fixture of the forest, a creature born of the season.

Beautiful. Especially when he smiles bashfully, as he always does when Castiel has been staring longer than is socially acceptable, but the attention is still appreciated.

“I hadn’t realized I’d been out so long,” Castiel murmurs. “Thank you.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “No problem, dork.” The mild insult is nothing compared to the fondness of his gaze when it lands back on Castiel. “You gonna be out much longer? Cuz dinner’ll be ready soon.”

A shiver catches Castiel unaware and breaks him from the strange mood his walk through the forest pulled him into. He shrugs on his coat and smiles up at his husband. “No, I’m ready to go back. I’ll walk with you.”

Dean brightens, and he crooks out an elbow in invitation. Castiel slips his hand into the warm space and lets Dean guide him home.


	7. Gentle Stream

The rustle of leaves and the whisper of distant water pulled Dean along the path, each step taken matched by his husband as they strolled the well worn path. Cas’ hand is warm in his, which is good because the days are getting chillier. He tucks his free hand into the pocket of his fleece jacket and hums Metallica.

Cas is silent at his side, but his fingers tighten around Dean’s, and he’s smiling when Dean casts him a sideways glance. He barely pays attention to the path, allowing Dean to guide him to their destination.

When they finally reach the little bridge over the stream running parallel to their property, their boots thud hollowly on the wood as they step onto it. At the center they stop and lean against the rail, and each other, shoulders pressed tightly together. Fiery leaves drop slowly from the branches arched over the stream and getting carried away by the rushing water, and Cas chuckles warmly when the breeze catches one and presses it up against Dean’s nose before it loses its grip and dances away on the current of air.

Dean already misses summer, but the beauty of autumn isn’t lost on him. Even though it pales next Cas’ smile, and the soft sounds of the forest aren’t nearly as captivating as Cas’ laughter.

“It’ll be frozen over soon,” Cas says quietly, blue eyes shifting down to the dark water rushing under their perch on the bridge.

Wrapping an arm around Cas’ shoulders and pulling him closer, Dean tilts their heads together and watches the falling leaves get swept away. “Better enjoy this while we can then, huh?”

Cas moves just enough to kiss him softly on the cheek and then settles back against him. “Indeed.”


	8. Fishing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mildly naughty ;D

Silky cloth catches against the hair on Dean’s legs, and he wonders for the nth time whether he should try shaving them. He’d done it once in high school, and it was kinda awesome for the first day, but it drove him nuts for the week it took to grow back. He’s not sure he wants to deal with the hassle, or the upkeep.

He snugs the panties up around his hips, and reaches down the front to adjust himself under the pretty purple satin. Then he twists and turns, looking at himself in the full length mirror hanging from the back of the bedroom door. The manscaping seems to be enough, but maybe he should get a second opinion.

Without bothering to put on anything else Dean leaves the bedroom, on a quest to find his husband. Cas isn’t in the kitchen or the living room, and he’s not in the little attic office stuffed full of their combined collection of books. He’s not in the laundry room, or in the backyard puttering around his little herb garden either.

Unaware of the pout marring his features, Dean turns in the only direction left to try.

“Yahtzee,” he says when he catches sight of Cas through the lace curtains at the front of the house. 

Knowing there aren’t any neighbors for miles, he doesn’t hesitate to swing open the door. His nipples perk and his skin pebbles as the cool air washes over him, but he’s already committed so he continues out onto the wide wooden porch he and Cas built when they renovated the little cabin. 

Cas is settled in one of the rocking chairs Dean built for him, head tilted down over the open book in his hands. He looks up at Dean’s approach, eyes already owl-like behind his wire rimmed reading glasses. They widen as they sweep from Dean’s face to his toes and back up, pausing both times on the purple satin panties.

Knowing he’s damn gorgeous doesn’t stop Dean from striking a pose. “What do you think?” he asks, swaying his hips slightly to show off the bulge. “Should I shave, or are you cool with the manly man hair?”

Instead of responding right away, Cas carefully marks his place in the book with a long, shiny black feather he’d found in one of their leisurely walks. He sets the book on the wide arm of the chair, and stands. Dean resists the urge to squirm as Cas approaches, but there’s no hiding his body’s response to Cas’ molten hot stare.

Cas stops just inches away and holds Dean’s gaze with his own. It takes barely any movement for him to reach forward and run a knuckle over Dean’s hardening cock. “Are you fishing for compliments?”

Dean hides his awe of his husband’s predatory behavior behind a crooked smirk. “Nah, I know I’m hot shit.”

A slow smile spreads over Cas’ lips, and he leans up until their cheeks brush and his breath is hot against Dean’s ear. “You’re beautiful how you are, and you’ll be beautiful if you choose to groom yourself differently.”

Now the goosebumps chasing each other up Dean’s arms are definitely not from the autumn chill in the afternoon air.

“You’re always beautiful,” Cas says, voice husky with lust. 

The thin thread of control holding Dean still snaps, and he’s on Cas in an instant, dragging him into the house and (mostly) straight to their bed. Maybe Dean _was_ fishing. He makes a mental note that silky panties make _excellent_ bait.


	9. Tree Climbing

When Castiel notices Zeppelin, their semi-adopted stray tom cat, sniffing around under the tree he’s quick to investigate. And it’s a good thing too, because he hears the distressed chirping when he gets close.

“Shoo, Zep,” Castiel calls, gently flicking the cat with the kitchen towel he’d forgotten to put down before he came outside. He gets a feline glare, but Zeppelin slinks off after a second towel flick. 

Kneeling down, Castiel finds the source of the high pitched cries is a baby bird. Its beak opens wide, and its fluffy little wings flap, and Castiel’s heart breaks for the tiny creature. Very carefully, he uses the towel to scoop it up. Thankfully Zeppelin only scared it, and hadn’t had a chance to do more than sniff at it yet. Castiel understands that the tom cat still hunts despite Dean leaving a heaping bowl of kibble on the back porch for him every day, but he’s still glad to rescue one of Zeppelin's intended meals.

“Dean?” he calls as he goes back into the cabin. “Where are you?”

His husband from the attic, hurrying down the steps when he sees Castiel hovering just inside. “What’s the matter?”

When Dean is close enough, Castiel lifts the corner of the towel, revealing the baby bird. It immediately starts crying again, and Castiel’s heart breaks with every high pitched call. “I think it fell out of its nest.”

Dean’s eyes soften, and he tilts his head down to look at the bird. His hands come up to cup around Castiel’s. “Let me see it.”

When Castiel relinquishes the towel, Dean holds it in one hand and pokes at the bird with gentle fingers. Its cries become more distressed, and Dean murmurs “you’re okay, little buddy. Just checkin’ for damage.”

Thankfully there don’t appear to be any broken limbs or mangled feathers, and after a talk they agree to try putting it back in its nest. They’ll keep an eye out, so if the parents reject it they can bring it in the house until Animal Rescue can come collect it.

Unfortunately the nest appears to be rather high in the tree, and Dean had loaned their ladder to a neighbor. But neighbor is a relative term, and it would take a drive to go get it back.

“I can just climb up there,” Dean announces after squinting up at the branches thoughtfully.

“Dean, that’s not very safe.”

His warning is met with a cocky grin. “Not  _ that _ dangerous.”

And so Castiel stands at the base of the tree, cradling the baby bird in his hands and watching Dean pull himself into the branches. Half of the trees leaves have already been shed as the days have grown cooler, so he has a clear view as Dean climbs toward the nest. His movements are sure and confident, allaying Castiel’s worries. And when he reaches the nest Dean lets out a  _ booyah! _ of triumph. 

He lowers a basket on a string that he’d carried with him, and Castiel places the baby bird carefully inside. Then he waits, head craned up, while Dean settles the fledgling back in its home and climbs back down.

Dean drops from the bottom branch, landing on his feet with a small bounce, and Castiel is on him in a flash. Love for this man who has done far more heroic, dangerous things, but is still willing to risk himself for one tiny bird fills Castiel to bursting and he probably squeezes Dean too hard, but Dean responds by wrapping his arms around Castiel’s shoulders and holding him just as tightly.

“What was that for?” Dean asks when Castiel finally finds the strength to stop clinging. His smile is soft, his eyes understanding.

“Thank you,” Castiel says, and tilts his head up enough to brush their lips together.


	10. Cloud Watching

Dean feels the change in the air just as he notices the room grow darker. He lifts his head from the puzzle he and Cas have been intermittently working on all weekend and looks toward the windows. The sun beams that had been filtering through the lace curtains have disappeared, and they flip and flutter in the wind pushing through the windows. It’s cold, and goosebumps rise up over Dean’s arms when it brushes over him.

“Looks like the storm is here,” Cas murmurs. When Dean glances at him, his blue eyes are wide behind his glasses, excitedly fixed on the waving curtains.

When the weather forecast had hinted at snow, Dean had scoffed. It was far too warm outside, not a cloud in sight.  _ Maybe _ rain, but fluffy snowflakes? That kind of weather is still weeks away.

He shivers when another gust rattles the window panes, and he and Cas get up in unison. But while Dean moves to shut the windows, Cas slips out the front door and onto the porch.

After he’s shut everything, Dean follows him but stops in the doorway. The bright sunny morning seems like a fever dream now. The sky is dark with roiling clouds, and the wind whips the trees hard enough that he can hear a few creaks and moans in the branches. The last of the browning leaves lose their grip on their branches and they’re torn free, tossed and tumbling on the current of air. Dust and leaves kicked up by the wind make Dean squint.

“Come inside, angel,” he calls over the growing roar of wind and waving branches.

“I will,” Cas says dreamily, face turned up to the sky. “In just a few minutes.”

He steps forward, not watching where his feet go as he walks down the steps and into the little clearing they call a front yard. The wind ruffles his hair, and slips under the open lapels of the pale blue flannel he’d stolen from Dean’s side of the closet. The shirt flaps out behind him, sometimes looking a bit like a plaid cape, and sometimes looking like folded wings shifting like they itch to spread out and catch a gust and ride the air stream high into the sky.

Dean glances up, and grimaces. These clouds are nothing like the fluffy summer kind that shape themselves according to the whims of imagination. He’s not a fan of storms. Never has been. But at least there’s no distant roll of thunder. After a childhood spent in Tornado Alley, he’s got a very healthy distrust of lightning and thunder. 

Unlike his husband.

Dean watches Cas watch the sky. The sight of his husband communing with one of the wilder parts of nature far more interesting to him than the dark storm clouds threatening to dump a whole shitload of water on them. He itches to leave the feeble shelter of the porch and drag Cas back inside, but he waits, letting Cas have these moments before the clouds open up to drench him.

The temperature drops, but the air becomes crisp and clean, and Dean breathes deeply along with Cas. When the tap of the first few droplets hit the porch overhang, Cas laughs. He pulls off his glasses and lets the rain dampen his skin for another minute before he lets out a sigh loud enough for Dean to hear from a distance. 

He’s grinning like a loon when he makes his way up the stairs, and Dean still doesn’t Cas’ obsession with storms, but if it feels anything like the love and adoration pounding through his own veins, then he won’t complain too much tonight. Unless it snows, and then all bets are off. But when Cas’ arms come around his waist, he thinks he can keep the grumbling about that to a minimum too, as long as he can weather the storm with this man keeping him warm.


	11. Bug Catching

When Dean’s high pitched wail warbles through the house, Castiel nearly drops the plate he’d just finished washing. He doesn’t give a second’s thought to its condition when he lets it fall into the sink though, and he’s out of the kitchen and down the hall in a heartbeat.

“Dean?”

“Here!”

He follows the panicked cry into the bathroom, throwing the unlocked door open. And finds Dean naked, and pressed up against the wall next to the shower. “Dean? What is it?”

Dean’s eyes are dark, his face pale, and his hand trembles when he presses it over his heaving chest. He drops his head back against the wall and swallows, obviously trying to regain his composure. “In the tub,” he pants.

His husband’s fear is unnerving, but Castiel still steps forward and draws the partially open curtain back all the way. And sees nothing. “What-?”

“Look at the  _ size  _ of that damn thing!” Dean gasps, pointing at a space above Castiel’s head.

Lifting his gaze, Castiel finds the monster. Pressing his lips together very tightly to keep from displaying any humor towards the situation, he nods solemnly. “Yes,” he says when he’s sure that he won’t laugh, “it’s very large.”

“Kill it, would ya?” Dean gripes. He no longer sounds frightened out of his wits, only flustered. And annoyed. Castiel must not be hiding his amusement very well.

“I’m not going to kill it,” Castiel objects. He lets go of the shower curtain and grabs the plastic cup they keep on the counter for rinsing their mouths after brushing their teeth. He looks around for a piece of paper, and finally settles on tearing a page out of one of Dean’s car magazines stacked on the back of the toilet. 

Ignoring Dean’s yelp of indignation, Castiel turns back to the shower. He puts the cup over the spider perched on the tiles and very gently slides the paper underneath, capturing the fuzzy little creature and lifting it away from the wall. He takes a closer look, and realizes it’s a jumping spider. No wonder Dean is so unhappy about their uninvited guest. He doesn’t trust any creatures with “jumping” in their name.

When he turns around with the trapped spider in hand, Dean recoils. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Take it back outside where it belongs,” Castiel says, finally letting a bit of a smile surface.

“He’ll just come back inside!” Dean protests, but the color is coming back to his cheeks.

“I’ll take him very far outside,” Castiel promises. When Dean’s bottom lip pops out in a pout, he smiles more fondly. “Don’t worry, Dean. I’ll protect you.”

The last of the tension drains from Dean’s shoulders and he rolls his eyes. “My hero,” he says dryly. But he rewards Castiel with a peck on the lips--careful to stay away from the spider trapped in Castiel’s hands.

As Castiel slips out of the bathroom, Dean calls after him “You better get back here and join me!”

Castiel grins and hastens his steps.


	12. Picking Flowers

Castiel hums along to the rock music floating up from the main floor as the wipes dust from the large collection of books he and Dean have amassed since they took residence in their little cabin. Downstairs, Dean is singing, belting out the lyrics like he’s standing at a karaoke mic and not meticulously scrubbing down every surface in the kitchen. When he hits a particularly high note very badly, Castiel chuckles.

The impromptu concert makes the cleaning seem to go much faster, and soon all the books and shelves are free of dust. He’d already organized the desk, throwing out torn open envelopes and organizing their bills into the filing cabinet. The attic was the last space needing to be cleaned, which means that Castiel can finally relax. 

He looks around with a sense of satisfaction, and his eyes trace over the books. Textbooks, horror novels, cookbooks. There’s a little bit of everything, and he’s proud of their little collection.

His eyes fall on the spine of one particular paperback, its title almost obscured by cracks from hundreds of readings. A wave of nostalgia pushes him to the shelf, and he pulls the book from its space among newer publications in the series.

It’s his favorite. Maybe not his favorite story, but his favorite book because it had been a gift from Dean. Back when they started the delicate dance that would spiral them closer and closer around each other until they finally, as Dean would put it, pulled their heads out of their asses and got their shit together. 

He turns it in his hands, intending to open to a random page, but it opens right in the center and he’s greeted by a flash of blue. With reverent fingers, he lifts the dried Forget Me Not from the pages. 

The delicate little flower throws him back in time. To a day sunny and warm, the polar opposite of the cold gray autumn hovering outside the cabin windows. 

He remembers a walk through a garden, exchanging shy glances and timid smiles when they finally let their brushing fingers tangle together. Dean is not one for big romantic gestures, usually showing his affection through acts of service, but he’d stopped by a cluster of tiny blue flowers with yellow centers and plucked one up. He’d offered it to Castiel like he was afraid of being scolded for not offering a bundle of roses instead.

They’d shared their first kiss that day.

Castiel brushes the dried flower under his nose, scenting the lingering perfume from its petals mixed with the mustiness of inked paper, then places it back between the pages of the book. He presses a kiss to its cover, and puts it back in its designated space on the shelf. 

When he descends the iron spiral staircase from the attic, he doesn’t find Dean right away. Then the back door opens and a gust of cold wind enters along with his husband. Dean is sweaty and dirty, flushed from doing the more strenuous parts of the housework.

“Hey, Sunshine,” he says with a dazzling smile as he sets down his newly emptied mop bucket just inside the door and shuts it against the chilly autumn air. 

When Castiel pulls him into a kiss, he reacts with a pleased hum. He blinks dazedly when Castiel releases him, but his sunny smile is brighter than ever. “What was that for?”

“Because I can,” Castiel answers simply.

“Oh! Well then.” Dean leans in for a second kiss. He straightens with a wink. “Also, just because.”


	13. Picnic

The pile of leaves in the front yard is as tall as Dean’s knees and probably big enough for him to bury himself in, but he resists the urge. Not after all the work he did creating it. And also? Bugs. No thank you.

Still. Tempting. 

Instead he scoops it up into a wheelbarrow and hauls it off to the edge of the trees and dumps it on the mulching pile. His deep sense of satisfaction when he surveys the cleaned up yard is interrupted by a loud rumble from his stomach. A glance at the pale sky reminds him that he’s been at this for a while, and it is most definitely lunchtime.

Just as he wonders what Cas has planned for lunch, the cabin’s front door swings open and his husband appears as if summoned. He’s got a red checkered blanket draped over one arm, and the handle of a giant basket looped over the other. He strides right to the center of the newly cleaned grass and sets down his burdens.

Dean leans the rake against a nearby tree and approaches as Cas shakes out the blanket over the grass. “What’s this?” he asks, crouching down over the basket.

“Enough food to feed the starving labor force,” Cas announces imperiously, even as a smile twitches at his lips.

Dean’s stomach confirms the description and they both laugh. “You didn’t have to do this,” he says as he pulls his gloves off and perches on the edge of the blanket when Cas gestures for him to do so.

Cas pulls out a tupperware of fruit salad, the kind with marshmallows and too much whipped cream. Dean’s second favorite way to eat fruit. “It’s probably going to be the last warm day of autumn, and I want to really enjoy it.”

He’d prepared a small feast. Along with the fruit salad there’s homemade potato chips with Cas’ special seasoning salt, fat hoagies with three meats and two cheeses, plus an array of toppings. And a couple bottles of Dean’s home brewed rootbeer. 

Dean adds a little bit of everything to his sandwich, including extra pickles and some of the chips for crunch. It feels like he almost needs to unhinge his jaw to take a bite, but he manages with a little effort, and as the flavors burst across his tongue he closes his eyes and hums happily.

When he opens them again, Castiel is staring at him with chipmunk cheeks stuffed with his own meal and smiling blue eyes. It takes them both a whole minute to chew and swallow with swigs of spicy rootbeer before they can speak. 

“This was a good idea,” Dean says. “Thanks, angel.”

The air is clean and crisp, and the sun is warm on his skin. But the day is not nearly so beautiful as Cas’ dazzling grin. 


	14. Sunrise

It’s the cold that wakes him. 

They haven’t turned on the furnace yet. Daily chores and cooking still keep the tiny cabin comfortable during the day, and they both sleep hot so a thick quilt and the press of their bodies keep them warm enough at night. But without Dean’s heat, Castiel shivers himself out of a dream saturated in colors he doesn’t think exist in the visual spectrum.

When he realizes he’s alone in the bed, he sits up and squints toward the door. There are no lights on in the cabin, but it isn’t fully dark anymore. Everything is visible with the gray-ish half-light of the coming dawn. It’s enough for him to see by as he rolls off the bed and pads barefoot into the cabin’s living room. 

There’s no sign of his husband in the gloaming, and worry twists in Castiel’s belly. “Dean?”

“Out here, Cas.”

Frowning, he follows Dean’s muffled voice. He’d pulled their quilt around his shoulders when he’d left the warmth of their bed, and he tucks it up closer under his chin with one hand while he opens the front door with the other. On the porch, he finds Dean huddled in a rocking chair, legs pulled up to his chest. 

“Dean,” Castiel breathes as he goes to his husband. “Why are you out here in the dark?” He frowns harder when he gets closer. “And barefoot? It’s cold out here.”

“No shit, come warm me up.” Dean puts his legs down and spreads his arms. 

Castiel takes the invitation and settles in his lap, fussily adjusting the blanket until it’s tucked securely around both of them. Dean is shivering, so he presses his face against Dean’s neck and breathes against it to warm him. 

They sit quietly as the minutes stretch and the sky gradually brightens. He doesn’t worry that he’s too heavy to sit in Dean’s lap. That’s for after he’s sure Dean isn’t going to freeze to death. And after he finds out why Dean is out here in the first place. He doesn’t ask. Coaxing Dean to speak only has the opposite effect, so he waits as patiently as he’s able.

The sky turns from violet to pink shot through with rays of gold as the sun peeks from behind the horizon. Its beams spear through the mist hovering among the trees, making everything look hazy and dream-like.

“Sorry I worried you,” Dean says as the sunlight creeps across the lawn and toward the porch. “Didn’t think I’d be out here so long.”

He’s stopped shivering, and is now radiating heat into Castiel’s skin. That alleviates some of Castiel’s worries, but his concern still simmers inside him. “Was it a nightmare?” he asks softly, risking the question now that Dean is volunteering snippets of information.

Dean’s arms tighten around Castiel and he nuzzles his face into Castiel’s hair. He takes a deep breath, and huffs it out in a tiny cloud of steam. “Yeah, a bad one. Didn’t want to wake you.”

Their life here is so idyllic that Castiel sometimes forgets they have reasons to have nightmares at all. He also suffers through his own psychological scars in slumber, and while most of the time he prefers to ride out the heartache and terror in Dean’s embrace, sometimes he needs time and space to process things on his own. 

He understands. But. “If you won’t wake me, will you at least put on shoes and a jacket if you’re going to be out here in the cold?”

Dean’s chuckle is as warm as the sunlight that has inched up the porch and over their legs. “Sure, mom.”

Mary Winchester is one of the best women Castiel knows, so he ignores Dean’s sarcasm and takes it as a compliment instead. He thanks Dean silently, with a kiss against his throat. Then he turns his head, resting it under Dean’s chin, and they watch the sun come up together until their empty stomachs drive them back inside for breakfast.


	15. Free Day

When Dean sees Cas come out of the kitchen with a huge piece of pie covered in fluffy whip cream, he huffs and pushes out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “Where’s mine?”

“This  _ is _ yours,” Cas says as he comes closer. 

But when Dean reaches for the plate, Cas holds it away. Then he straddles Dean’s lap. Dean’s hands come to rest on Cas’ hips and he waits, curious to see what the mischievous glint in his blue eyes means.

Cas scoops up a big bite of pie--pumpkin, made from their own garden this year--and shoves it in his mouth. Cream and pumpkin smear across his lips, and his eyes roll up as he enjoys  _ Dean’s _ pie. After he swallows, his tongue flicks out and cleans his lips, and they twist into a smirk when he notices that all of Dean’s attention is focused on them.

“Open,” Cas orders, voice deeper and huskier. The way it gets when he tells Dean to hold still, or spreads his legs a little more, or beg pretty.

Dean’s jaw obeys before his mind has fully processed the order. And his heart flutters wildly in his chest when Cas’ heavy gaze turns approving. He’s further rewarded when Cas forks up another, more reasonable, morsel of pie and slips the fork between Dean’s lips. Whip cream still catches on his upper lip, but as soon as his mouth is closed and the sweet and spicy pumpkin spreads across his tongue, Cas leans forward and licks away the cream.

Okay so this is happening. And Dean is  _ totally _ on board for it.

Cas feeds him slowly, but sloppily. Kissing away bits of pie filling and cream as they smear over Dean’s lips. By the third bite, Dean is hard in his jeans, and he’s mildly annoyed that he’s probably going to pop a boner any time he smells pumpkin spice after this. But definitely not annoyed enough to stop Cas from turning one of his favorite foods into a new kink.

There’s one last bite sized piece of pie left on the plate, and Cas watches with intense reverence as he guides the fork tines into Dean’s mouth and presses them down on his tongue. “God, the things I want to do with your mouth,” he murmurs when Dean’s lips close over it.

Dean chews slowly, although the crust is so tender and flaky that he doesn’t really need his teeth because everything melts right on his tongue. He stares at Cas as Cas stares at his lips. And when he swallows, Cas lets out a tiny gasp.

“What’s stopping you?” Dean asks, his voice also gone gravelly with desire.

The answer, apparently, is nothing. Because Cas’ mouth is on his, the plate and fork clattering on the table next to the couch.

Dean arches into Cas’ touch, and wonders if pie has been forever ruined for him now, or made ten times more awesome. 


	16. Homemade Bread

The day starts out cold enough that Castiel is ready to finally turn on the furnace. But that would require leaving his toasty warm burrow under the quilts. Normally he’s out of bed long before Dean, but this morning he’d growled and pulled the blankets tight around himself when Dean decided he’d had enough of lazing about and had gotten up.

Dean had laughed and tucked another blanket around him and left him to his incredibly talented burrito impression.

He pokes his head out long enough to accept breakfast in bed--toast and coffee--and then burrows back down. Dozing in and out, wallowing in the warmth and humming along to the music floating through the open bedroom door.

When he finally drags himself out of his nest, he finds that it’s no longer chilly in the house. The floor boards are warm under his toes when he pads out of the bedroom. It’s even warmer when he reaches the main living area of the cabin and he lets the blanket he’d slung over his shoulders sink down around his elbows. 

The room smells of yeast and flour, and heat radiates from the oven as Dean punches down a large ball of dough and starts kneading it. Castiel stands in the center of the room and watches. Dean either discarded his shirt at some point, or more likely never put one on in the first place. His shoulders bunch and flex, and somehow speckles of flour mingle with the freckles on his skin.

He must make a noise, because Dean pauses in his work and looks over his shoulder.

“Morning, Sunshine! Took your sweet time rollin’ out of bed today, didn’t you?”

Castiel tosses his blanket over the back of the couch and moves to join his husband at the counter. He greets him with a kiss, careful to stay away from sticky fingers. Then he leans back and surveys Dean’s work. “You’ve been busy this morning.”

“Well if you’re going to take a page out of my book and be a lazy bum all morning, I figured I should do your busy bee work.” He looks at Castiel with a more serious expression, green eyes searching. “You okay? You’re not coming down with something are you?”

Castiel almost brushes the question off, but he pauses to take stock, since Dean sincerely wants to know. And he’s fine. Wonderful in fact. He smiles up at his husband. “I’m fantastic. I think this busy bee just needed a little hibernation.”

Dean’s bright smile comes back and he leans forward to peck Castiel on the lips. “Well hibernate all you want, babe. I can take care of you.”

It’s impossible to feel a touch of chilliness when Dean’s sweetness warms him from the inside. 

“Does this mean I can get a foot rub?”

He scrambles away, laughing, when Dean holds up his doughy fingers threateningly.


	17. Afternoon Nap

“Oh come  _ on _ ,” Dean groans. “She can do so much better than that guy! He’s boring as tofu!”

“According to your brother, tofu can be quite delicious when prepared properly.”

Dean tilts his chin down and gives his husband an incredulous scowl. Not that Cas can see it from where his head is pillowed in Dean’s lap. He’s facing the TV, watching intently as Nurse Tiffany turns down Dr. Sexy’s affections for some dumb patient she’d been caring for all season. “You’d better not be getting tofu recipes from him,” he says warningly.

He loves Cas to the moon and back, but not nearly enough to start eating tofu.

Cas wrinkles his nose. “Don’t be ridiculous. Tofu is bland and disgusting.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Dean grumbles. He turns his attention back to the TV, unable to resist the trainwreck of angst that Nurse Tiffany’s choices are going to set off this season. 

His fingers comb through Cas’ hair, and he massages his temple and his jaw. His fingernails rasp lightly over Cas’ stubble. Cas hums contentedly, responding to Dean’s commentary with grunts and one word answers, obviously not really paying attention to anything Dean has to say. Cas never does. It annoys the hell out of Dean sometimes, but at least he knows he’s not annoying the hell out of Cas by talking over the good parts of the show. So it all works out in the end.

When the episode comes to a close, on a cliffhanger with Dr. Sexy having to perform emergency heart surgery on Nurse Tiffany’s love interest, Dean blows out a breath. “Well damn, I didn’t see that coming.”

The comment is met with silence, and Dean looks down to gauge Cas’ reaction. 

Cas is asleep. His lashes fan darkly over his cheeks, and his mouth sags open. He’s probably going to start drooling on Dean’s thigh at any moment.

Dean smiles, and combs his fingers through Cas’ hair again. It would probably be best to wake Cas and urge him into the bedroom so he can sleep more comfortably, but he can’t bring himself to disturb his husband’s nap. So he tucks a pillow behind his head and makes himself as comfortable as he can without jostling Cas. Then hits the power button on the remote to turn the TV off and closes his eyes. If he’s going to be stuck here for a while, he might as well catch a few Zs himself.


	18. Flower Field

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was tired and distracted by last night's episode and accidentally wrote 19 instead of 18 on the prompt list, but oh well ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> (Also I just really loved this idea and had to write it like ta-now.)
> 
> (Also also, I turned up the rating because this one feels more Mature than Teen. Implied top!Dean, bottom!Cas.)

When they first found the cabin, it had been in pretty bad shape. Growing up, Dean had learned enough handyman skills in odd jobs and lessons from his dad that he was able to fix it up and make it habitable again. But while Dean had shored up walls, and replaced roof shingles, and hung new doors in frames, Castiel had made the place look like a home. 

Cas picked out the furniture, ugly but soft and welcoming to weary bodies. He’d filled the cupboards with mismatched dishes, brightly colored and patterned and sometimes chipped but always functional. He’d hung lace curtains in the windows, and collected throw pillows with fuzzy covers and tassels and stashed them anywhere with a surface that could be sat on.

And he’d picked out what Dean considers frou frou sheets, but they’re high count and soft against the skin. And the pattern sometimes reminds Dean of a field of flowers he’d seen once, a long time ago.

He lays Cas down among the flowers, in the warmth of their bed while the autumn temperatures drop outside. Cas writhes among the petals and the leaves as Dean mouths at his skin, runs his fingers along the soft insides of his limbs, spreads him open and fills him.

Dean’s head fills with the scent of Cas’ skin, his arousal thick in the air with the lavender Cas uses to keep the sheets smelling sweet and fresh. His heart overflows with something that feels too big and profound to be labeled by four letters. 

“Cas,” he whispers against lips pink and swollen from his kisses. “Cas…”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas breathes in the tiny space between their mouths. “Yes.”

Their bodies rock and tumble together, and their hearts beat counterpoint to each other. They push and strain, reaching for completion. They find it, they find each other. Again. And always as powerful as the first time.


	19. Tea Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise SamWitch :)

After filling the kettle and putting it on the stovetop to heat, Dean turns and leans against the countertop. Instead of rejoining the small group in the half of the cabin’s main area that Cas calls the “living room” even though it’s not a separate room, he just watches. It’s been a while since Sam and Rowena have visited and it’s good--fucking fantastic really--to see them. But he and Cas have been living in solitude long enough now that he’s sort of forgotten how to properly socialize.

Sam glances up at him, smiling about whatever it is Cas and Rowena are chattering about, herbs probably. His smile turns curious, and he unfolds himself from the chair and crosses the small space to lean against the counter at Dean’s side. Their shoulders brush, a show of physical affection that Dean leans into. Dean misses his brother fiercely when he’s not around, and while it’s never said out loud, he thinks Sam probably feels the same.

“The hermit life seems to be treating you well,” Sam says softly. On the other side of the room, Rowena laughs at something Cas says. Her head tilts back and her bright red hair ripples over her shoulders. Dean catches Sam’s eyes going soft at the sound.

“Does it count as a hermit life if there’s two of us?” Dean counters. He watches Cas smile at Rowena, his nose wrinkling up in that way that makes Dean want to become a stand up comedian, just to keep that smile on Cas’ face.

Sam scoffs. “Uh, yeah. How far is it to civilization from here?”

“Just far enough,” Dean says.

They chuckle together and watch their spouses. Dean can hear the water in the kettle starting to bubble. It’ll be whistling soon, and he’ll make tea for their guests. He’ll complain and whine about tea being leaf water, and everyone will roll their eyes at him, but he’ll drink it and enjoy it because it’s actually pretty good with honey. And it’s even better when shared with his loved ones.

“The world traveler life seems to be treating you well,” Dean says.

Sam shrugs. “You know I never learned to settle down like you did.”

“Hey, being with Cas is never settling,” Dean protests lightly. He casts his brother a sly grin. “And I’d say you’re settled with Ro just fine.”

Sam matches his grin. “You’re not wrong.”

Dean sniffs haughtily. “I’m  _ never _ wrong.”

“Sure, Dean.” Sam rolls his eyes as he concedes the argument before it can even start.

The kettle begins to whistle, softly at first, but with growing volume before Dean can remove it from the heat. Sam helps him by gathering cups and saucers, and together they bring a tray of tea and snacks to the little table in the center of the living room. They rejoin their spouses, and the four of them spend hours catching up on the weeks they’ve been apart.


	20. Ocean View

It started, as most of their adventures these days do, with “Let’s go for a drive.”

Castiel is much more of a homebody than Dean is. He doesn’t yearn for the open road, or to see new walls surrounding the bed they sleep in, or to try and find those secret diners, drive-ins, and dives that haven’t been featured on Triple D yet. 

But he loves that those things make Dean happy, and he pays attention to his husband to see when the itch to explore a backroad starts up under his skin. When Dean starts staring a little too long at the gravel drive leading up to their home, Castiel goes and finds Baby’s keys, places them in Dean’s hand, and watches Dean’s eyes light up when he suggests they pack the cooler and a few duffels and take a trip to nowhere in particular.

That’s why he’s in the passenger seat of Baby now, as they drive along a lonely highway. It winds in and out of the trees, giving them glimpses of the ocean in the distance. The view on the other side of the windshield is breathtaking. Dark evergreens interspersed with the fiery colors of autumn, white and gray clouds skudding along the belly of the bright blue sky, and growing ever closer, the waves washing up onto a rocky shore. 

None of it is quite as beautiful as Dean behind the wheel, smiling and singing along to one of his scratchy old mixtapes. Castiel watches him far more than he watches the rest of God’s creations. As far as he’s concerned, the most perfect one sits on the leather seat beside him.


	21. Shell Collecting

The high pitched whine of the dremel cuts across the music playing softly from the stereo on the countertop, but it cuts off again quickly. Dean brushes dust away with his thumb and examines his work. No cracks, and a perfectly round hole.

He sets the seashell on a cloth Cas has laid out on the table and then goes back to sorting through the small pile that they’d collected on their trip to the beach. 

“Oh this one is perfect,” Cas murmurs as he picks up the shell Dean just finished drilling. He threads it with fishing line and with deft fingers ties it into his creation.

Dean notes its color and picks out another one the same shade of soft gray. He drills a hole in this one, and is pleased when it doesn’t crack either. It’s lucky that they’d gathered so many, because some of them proved too fragile for Dean’s dremel and there’s a pile of cracked and broken shells almost as large as the pile that he’s sorting through.

To make sure Cas gets to complete his project, he’s very careful. Together they work through the pile of shells, Dean carving and Cas threading. And by the time the sun has gone down and they’re both ready for dinner, Cas finally sits back with a satisfied smile.

He lifts the seashell mobile high above the table. The shells clack softly and pleasantly as they sway against each other. “What do you think?”

Dean looks the mobile over with a critical eye, but he’s looking at Cas when he answers. “Very pretty.”

Cas’ smile rivals every lightbulb in the house. “Will you help me hang it out on the porch?”

“Yeah, let’s do it.” Dean grabs his toolbox, and follows Cas outside, happy to do anything that will keep Cas smiling like that.


	22. Favorite Fruit

Castiel swats at Dean’s thieving fingers, but he still gets away with a prize in hand. He snickers like a little boy playing keep-away and dances out of the way of Castiel’s towel on agile feet.

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean whines when he reaches the safety of the other side of the table. “We bought way too many and they’ll go bad if we don’t eat them first.”

“The least you could do,” Castiel says as he goes back to slicing up the strawberries Dean hasn’t eaten yet, “is stop eating the best ones.” He shoots Dean a warning look when he starts shuffling back around the table, green eyes on the bowl of unsliced fruit. “And not eat all of them before I can finish desert.”

Dean stops, bottom lip pushed out in a boyish pout. Sweet treats never fail to regress him into a six foot tall kindergartener. Then the pout clears. “Let me make the whip cream, so we can hurry this bitch up and eat. I promise I’ll stay out of the strawberries while you’re brandishing a knife.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. Dean looks back at him with a level of innocence that telegraphs his true intentions from miles away. But Dean is usually an excellent sous chef, so he nods his permission.

True to his word, Dean behaves himself. He gets out the mixer and has the cream whipping in no time. 

While it’s still whipping, Castiel finishes slicing up the strawberries and sets his knife aside so he can get the canister of sugar. No sooner is his back turned than Dean’s fingers are in the bowl. He spins back around to find Dean smugly licking red juice from his fingertips.

Castiel’s (very mild, mostly amused) annoyance is immediately forgotten when his eyes zero in on Dean’s pink tongue flicking over the edge of his thumb. And Dean notices his distraction. He grabs another berry, this one from the little plastic crate and wraps his lips around the end of it, suckling lightly before biting slowly through the flesh of the fruit and chewing slowly.

A soft whine bubbles up in Castiel’s throat. “Why are you like this?”

Dean plucks up another strawberry. He dips it in the whip cream and then sticks his tongue out and drags the berry down the center, leaving a trail of fluffy white behind. He pulls it back into his mouth slowly and hums deep in his chest.

“Because it makes you look at me like you want to eat the strawberries off something besides cake,” Dean says, low and wicked. He picks up a slice of strawberry and holds it out in offering. “Have some, Cas.”

Castiel opens his mouth and allows Dean to place the slice of tangy sweet fruit on his tongue. He’s sure to capture the tips of Dean’s fingers when he closes his mouth, and it’s his turn to be smug when Dean’s eyes darken at the sight.

They do eventually eat the shortcake, but not until after they’ve run out of strawberries and cream.


	23. Rainy Day

Despite being far from the road, and even farther from town, the cabin has electricity and running water and gas. It had been a rental property before they’d obtained it, and its guests hadn’t wanted things to be _ too _ rustic. But when a storm blows through with strong enough winds, they lose power and have to wait a longer time for repairs than if they were right in the middle of town.

Not that Castiel minds all that much. After the worst of the storm had blown through, the paler clouds let some sunlight filter down to their little clearing. Not enough to illuminate the interior of the cabin more than a few feet from the windows, but enough that a few candles chase away the gloom. 

Dean offers to go out and fire up the gas generator, but since the weather forecast said the rain may last for a few days they decide to save it for a real emergency. So they sit around the wood burning stove and listen to music on a battery powered radio. They cuddle on the couch and enjoy the crackle of flames and the patter of water droplets on the roof and windows. 

A plaintive cry at the door pulls Dean from their cozy nest, and he pads over to the door. He opens it and a furry body slips through the opening as soon as it’s wide enough. Zeppelin slinks into the depths of the house, probably to hide under the bed. It’s where they always find him when he deigns to come inside.

“I’m going to be sneezing all night,” Dean mumbles as he rejoins Castiel in their nest of blankets on the couch. He doesn’t look as displeased as he’s trying to sound. His allergies didn’t do much to keep him from falling in love with the stray.

Castiel pulls him deeper under the covers. “You should take some allergy meds,” he suggests, even as Dean cuddles back up against him with no signs that he plans to get back up any time soon.

“I’ll get around to it eventually.” 

Once he’s settled again, Dean sings softly to the music. The rain continues to fall, it's gentle thrum seemingly singing along. 


	24. Self Care

“What color?” Dean calls from the bathroom.

“Just bring the whole basket!” Cas calls back.

With a shrug, Dean grabs the basket from under the sink and heads back to the living room. His robe sways around his bare legs as he walks with his toes pointed slightly up, and he probably looks like a moron, but since Cas is also wearing nothing but a bathrobe--not even tied closed, and ain’t that a sight--and a mud mask, he figures he’s in good company.

He sits down next to Cas, and places the basket on the coffee table near the rest of Cas’ pedicure supplies. Cas immediately leans forward and starts sorting through the different colors of nail polish.

“Get me the pink one,” Dean says as he props his feet back up where he can reach them.

“With or without sparkles?”

“With.”

Cas grins, and the mud coating his face cracks along his cheeks. “Good choice.”

Dean accepts the bottle, and keeps his smile to a small twitch of his lips. When the mud starts cracking it itches like crazy and according to the timer he can’t wash it off for ten more minutes.

As he watches Cas pick out the deep purple and lime green polishes, he wonders for the umpteenth time how he ended up in this position. Sure, he likes to wear frilly panties now and then, but facials (of the non-kinky variety) and mani-pedis? So not his style.

But it’s hard to tell Cas no when he looks up at Dean with those big blue eyes and asks him if he can paint his toenails.  _ No one will see them under your socks and shoes, Dean. Please? I’ll pick a manly color of polish.  _ There’s no such thing, but the shade of blue Cas picked matched his eyes and Dean hadn’t been able to stop staring at his toes whenever they were bare.

What had started out as a one time thing to get Cas to stop with the puppy dog face had turned into a monthly tradition. And slowly, over time, Cas had started doing more than just painting Dean’s toe nails. Hell sometimes, if Cas is extra persuasive, Dean ends up in eye makeup and lipstick.

And panties. 

He’s got a pair picked out for tonight, after they’re done with their primping.

_ Self care _ , Cas calls it. 

Dean sweeps the polish brush over the nail of his big toe, leaving a stripe of sparkly hot pink in its wake. The color matches his panties perfectly. He smiles wide in anticipation, and doesn’t even mind when his cheeks start to itch.


	25. Knitting

Since they’ve moved to the cabin, Cas has made it his mission to Create Himself. Dean didn’t quite understand it when Cas tried to explain it, but seeing him trying new hobbies and finding things that interest him give Dean an inkling of understanding. And Dean’s completely on board.

Well, most of the time. When Cas wanted to try learning how to play a didgeridoo, he’d been relieved when that didn’t become one of Cas’ favorite hobbies. He didn’t burn the instrument after Cas lost interest in it, but he’d been severely tempted.

There’s one hobby that Cas hasn’t tried yet, that Dean is pretty sure he’ll like. And it’s  _ quiet. _

On a run to the closest Wal-Mart, he picks up supplies. Several needles. A hoop thingy that looks like it might be useful. And a whole basket full of colored skeins of the softest yarns they carry, because he has a feeling that he’s going to be wearing some of this shit and he doesn’t want it to be itchy.

When he gets home from the trip, Cas’ eyes go wide at the large number of bags hanging from Dean’s forearms. He’d said he was going from a beer run, and the bulging sacks certainly don’t contain any beer. Although, he didn’t forget it, it’s just in the trunk waiting for his second trip outside.

Cas is going through the bags, the spark of curiosity already turning into the fire of excitement when Dean comes back in with the rest of the groceries. “Are you taking up knitting?” he asks Dean, without looking up from the green yarn in his hands.

“Nah, that’s for you.”

Cas’ head comes up, and he gives Dean that smile. The one that makes Dean do silly things like buy an Australian wind instrument for his husband even though he knows in advance that he’s going to hate himself for it. “Thank you, Dean.”

Several YouTube videos, a few botched starts, and two days later Dean is sitting on the couch with a beer, feet propped up on the coffee table and clad in slightly wonky knitted socks. Cas sits at his side, needles clacking away, and Dean’s glad that this hobby seems to be one that’ll stick around.


	26. Reading Nook

Modern technology gives access to a whole world of stories through ebooks and self publishing sites, but Dean and Castiel still visit the local library often. Dean claims the screens make his eyes ache, and maybe there’s truth to that, but Castiel sees the way he cradles paper books in his hands. He’s caught Dean lifting them to his nose and scenting the pages, eyes drooping with pleasure.

Dean is tactile. He likes to experience things with all of his senses, and there’s much more to experience with a “dead tree” book, as he likes to call them, than there is with a cold, smooth, solid piece of plastic with words displayed on a screen.

The library is small, but they always find something interesting. On this trip, Dean had walked past the New Arrivals stand near the door, paused, and backed up. His gasp of delight had earned them a warning glance from the librarian, but she’d softened when she’d witnessed Dean’s excitement over the newest book by an author he’d recently come to love.

Seeing that Dean had already found his treasure of the week, Castiel had hurried through returning their last checkouts, and grabbed something that had caught his eye a few weeks ago. He knew Dean would let him linger, to browse the shelves at his leisure, but Castiel wouldn’t make him wait.

As soon as they arrived home, Dean had kicked off his shoes and climbed up to the attic office. Castiel leaves him alone for most of the day, but eventually he decides to bring him snacks and something to drink. If given the time and space, and a good enough book, Dean will forget to eat.

When Castiel climbs up the spiral staircase, he finds Dean curled up among the pillows in the window seat at the far end of the attic. His head rests against the glass panes, and he has the book tilted to receive the most light. He doesn’t even look up when Castiel sets down a plate of cookies and a glass of rootbeer.

“Good book?”

Dean hums what might be an affirmative, but his eyes continue to flick across the page.

It must be. Dean ignores cookies for very little.

Castiel leans in and kisses Dean on the temple, and smiles when he gets a murmured “love you” in response. He leaves Dean to his book, and goes back downstairs, warm with the knowledge that he rates higher than cookies in Dean’s heart.


	27. Cozy Kitchen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one comes with a song! [Hold You In My Arms by Ray LaMontagne](https://youtu.be/lMcMAsNXfiw)

The sky is gray with another threat of light snow, leaving the interior of the cabin dark and gloomy except for the kitchen where the overhead light glows with a soft yellow gold. With the oven on, and the scent of roasting chicken wafting from the vents, the room is cozy and warm enough that Castiel isn’t surprised that Dean has stripped off his t-shirt while he cleans up after prepping the bird for baking.

The radio on the counter is on, as it usually is, but this time it’s playing Castiel’s playlist instead of Dean’s classic rock. Dean had harrumphed and rolled his eyes, and made other displeased noises, but his hips still sway to the rhythm.

He looks so tempting that Castiel gets up from the table where he’d been spreading out pieces of a new puzzle they’d bought. The gleaming wood floor is warm and soft beneath his feet, but even though he makes no sound, Dean doesn’t seem startled when Castiel is suddenly right behind him, wrapping arms around his waist and nuzzling his hair.

They stand like that, Castiel wrapped around Dean from behind, rocking together, while Dean finishes rinsing the dishes. At the chorus, Dean begins to sing along. Really sing. Not the silly wailing he does when he’s at Karaoke, or when he’s trying to be obnoxious. 

His deep voice, getting rougher with age, sounds like it was made for the song. He croons the words softly, like he isn’t sure he wants to be heard, but Castiel is too close to miss it.

The water shuts off, and Dean’s muscles flex against Castiel’s body as he reaches for a towel and dries his hands. And then he turns in Castiel’s arms and returns the embrace. 

They dance. Mostly just gentle swaying, their knees occasionally nudging each other, and their feet barely leaving the floor. Dean continues to sing, eyes locked on Castiel’s.

On the final chorus, Castiel buries his face in Dean’s neck, and Dean continues to sing right against his ear. 

_ I could hold you in my arms _

_ I could hold you forever _

_ And I could hold you in my arms _

_ I could hold you forever _


	28. Hearty Dinner

Chicken, roast vegetables, and rolls glistening with butter. All of it seasoned with herbs from Cas’ garden. The cabin is warm from the oven, and the air thick with the scent of food as Cas finishes filling their dishes and brings them to the table. 

Even though Dean had done half the work, he’s still grateful as hell when Cas sets the plate in front of him. But he doesn’t dig in right away. He waits for Cas to settle in his own chair.

Their eyes meet across the table, and they both grin in anticipation. 

Half an hour later, their plates are empty, and they’re sprawled together on the couch. Dean groans and unfastens his jeans. The relief is immediate, and he sinks back into the cushions, head propped on Cas’ shoulder.

“Those rolls were to die for,” he sighs, wistful over how soft and buttery they were. “Thanks for making them.”

“I could say the same for your chicken,” Cas murmurs. 

Dean turns his head on Cas’ shoulder and looks up at him. They’re so close that his eyes cross a little, and he grins dopily. “We’re getting good at this cooking thing.”

Cas hums in agreement. “We still have to taste test the new pie recipe.”

“Yeah we should totally do that.” Dean grunts and shifts when his stomach rumbles. He smiles wryly and pokes his belly gently. “Maybe in like an hour though.”

Cas runs a hand over his own stomach, and tilts his head so that it’s resting on Dean’s. “Make that an hour and a half and I think we’ll have room for ice cream too.”

“I love the way you think,” Dean announces warmly, snuggling closer and closing his eyes. An hour and a half is the perfect time for a nap.


	29. Writing a Letter

Cas likes to leave Dean notes.

_Hello Dean, please don't drink the last of the milk, I'm saving it._

On post-its.

_Dean, ran to the store to buy more milk. _And another on the door. _I'll fill up Baby's tank while I'm out._

In every color available. Hot pink might be his favorite.

_Wear the lacy ones tonight? ~Castiel_

Or maybe he just knows how Dean ticks.

_Don't forget it's laundry day! =)_

He leaves them everywhere. Some are useful messages. But most of them are just because.

_I love you <3_

Sometimes Dean leaves Cas notes too.

_I love you too Angel <3_


	30. Stargazing

It wasn’t so long ago that spending any time relaxing with nothing to do was anathema to Dean. But since coming here, to their cozy sanctuary of log walls, the tension and manic energy have gradually seeped from his body. He naps, he sits on the porch with cups of honeyed tea and watches the forest, and he cuddles with Cas on the couch with only the muffled crackle coming from the wood burning stove.

Castiel drags the tip of his finger over Dean’s face. Across his brow, down the bridge of his nose and over the tip. He traces Dean’s lips, following them as they curve up with a smile. Then he brushes his finger over Dean’s left cheek, then the right, following the bone back to his ear, which he circles before tracing down along his jaw, to his chin, and back up to his left ear. 

He watches each flicker of Dean’s eyelids, and the twitch of his smiles, as he continues to stroke skin, sometimes soft and sometimes rough with growing stubble. He admires the length of his lashes, and how their color matches the freckles on his nose and cheeks.

Angel kisses. Castiel smiles. He likes to think that someday he’ll have kissed Dean enough to account for every freckle on his skin, and will eventually surpass them.

“Staring is weird, Cas,” Dean murmurs.

“I’m not staring,” Cas lies just as softly.

“Uh huh, right. What do you call it then?”

Castiel leans down and kisses first one freckled cheek, then the other, then plants a kiss on his soft pink lips. Dean’s smile widens, but his eyes stay closed, his body stays loose and heavy against Castiel’s.

“Stargazing,” Castiel says.

“Sap.”

“You love me.”

“Yup.”


	31. Halloween

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically this isn't part of the Cottagetober challenge since the prompt list only had 30 items. I asked what people thought I should do for day 31, and got a resounding _duh, Halloween_ and you know what they were right :)

Plastic crinkles as Dean rips open the bags of candy and dumps them into the large plastic cauldron. He shoves his hand in and swirls it around, mixing all the different fun sized candy bars and suckers and chewy fruit flavored stuff. 

At the other end of the table there’s a wet squelch as Cas pulls out a mass of stringy goop and seeds from the pumpkin he’s cut open. It plops on the layered newspaper, and his nose wrinkles as the strands of pumpkin innards stick to his fingers. 

Dean chuckles at the sight. “Cas, say  _ bwaaaaains. _ ”

Cas looks up at him from under his brows, and flicks his slimy fingers in Dean’s direction. They both laugh as Dean ducks. “Bring me an Almond Joy.”

“Yessir,” Dean says cheerily as he digs through the candy, looking for the telltale blue and white wrapper. When he finds one, he opens it and holds the small bar of chocolate and coconut out for Cas, who opens his mouth. Dean sets the candy on his tongue, enjoys the heat of Cas’ lips as they close around his fingers.

Words muffled by the candy in his mouth, Cas lifts a brow. “Are you going to help me with this?”

“You finish cleaning out the guts, and I’ll do the rest,” Dean promises. 

He opens another couple bags of candy and mixes them into the plastic cauldron. By the time he’s done, Cas is finished cleaning out the first pumpkin and is working to cut the second one open. Dean grabs a second, smaller knife and sits down to carve the first pumpkin into a masterpiece.

They take turns feeding each other candy as they finish carving up their Jack-o-lanterns, and then get washed up. They are running short on time, and have to get out of the house quick if they want to make it.

“Don’t forget the candles!” Cas calls as he’s wrapping a towel around the base of the pumpkins to keep them from rolling around in the trunk.

Dean, halfway through the door with the cauldron under one arm, reverses direction. He grabs the pack of tea lights from the kitchen counter, and then hurries back outside. Cas takes the cauldron and packs it in the trunk, and sneaks two suckers for the trip.

He gives Dean the apple, and keeps the mystery flavor for himself. Halfway through their suckers they trade. 

“Mmm,” Dean says around the stick. “Cherry.”

They make it to the shopping center just in time to get a good parking spot among the other cars with their trunks popped open. Before they get out of the car, Dean puts on a cowboy hat, and Cas puts on a witch hat. It’s as much costume as either of them were willing to do. They share a grin over Baby’s roof, and then hurry to get set up before the kids start coming through the parking lot.

Cas sets out the Jack-o-Lanterns and lights the tiny candles inside. Dean cracks a couple of glowsticks and throws them in the trunk so the interior glows around the cauldron of candy.

They’re ready just in time. There’s kids already starting to make their way along the line of cars.

Dean nearly bounces in his shoes with excitement. Which might be because he’s already had too much sugar, but is also because he’s been looking forward to this all month, every since he saw the flyer for the Trunk Or Treat event on the library’s pinboard. Cas’ warm hand slips into his, and they share another fond smile. And then the kids reach the Impala, and the festivities begin.


End file.
